


I Don't Wanna Do It Anymore

by Aeregele



Series: Hidden [3]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Everyone is miserable, Gen, bby boi is miserable, deals with suicide, he just shows up in the first fic, in-between series, may or may not be the kid from the silver eyes but tbh not really, some dude named sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeregele/pseuds/Aeregele
Summary: Henry faces thoughts he never thought would actually catch up to him.





	1. Chapter 1

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**Art used in these chapters were drawn by me!! If you like it, make sure to check out[my DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/aeregele/) for my artwork of this fic and other fnaf stuff!**

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* * *

**Chapter Warnings:**   
**\- character death**  
**\- language use**

“Don’t drop it,  _Dumbass_!” A man yelled. “These are one-of-a-kind antiques!”

“Sorry,” the other man mumbled, grabbing the object again. “My hands are sorta sweaty. It’s really stuffy in here.”

“Yeah, sure,” he huffed, grabbing the other side of the object and helping his partner lift the device onto a dolly.

“I haven’t seen this one before,” the younger man mumbled, picking some of the crust off the metal. “What. is it? Looks like Freddy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the older one huffed, “just get it in the van and we won’t have to worry about anything. I want this stuff before people find it and set it all up for an auction.”

“Great,” the other man growled and pushed the dolly out of the building. He reached the van, opening its back doors and unlocking the straps on the machine. He didn’t want to be here, of course. He was just here because he knew his friend couldn’t do this alone.

Not that he was doing anything anyway.

Smith — the older man — had begun to explore the building. He had been too excited for this. After hearing that Freddy’s finally shut down a few years ago, him and a colleague have been trying to find the old robots.

This building’s electrical system having caught on fire was a blessing. If it wasn’t for the fire he wouldn’t have even known to look here.

He placed a hand on a door, going to push it, but all that came up was a big clunk as it refused to budge. “God… dammit fine,” he growled and walked towards the exit. He found his friend and coworker standing outside of the van, straightening out the wrinkles in his dark uniform.

“Go explore the rest of the house,” Smith said. “I need to get in through the back door because one of the others is sealed shut.”

“Great,” his friend rolled his eyes. “Aye-aye, Captain,” he grumbled and entered the front door of the building.

Smith huffed, making his way around the building. Was it a house? It’d be weird since some of its walls and doors were completely metal, but the exterior looked just like a house someone would live in. Albeit, a very old house. 

No wonder it caught on fire.

He found the back door, taking the giant metal latch and lifting it. It released a loud groan as he pushed the door on its old hinges. It scraped against the old ash and rust on the floor. He entered the building for the second time this night, being more careful with where he stepped. The fact this room had been sealed shut from the inside sent chills up his spine. Warnings were going off in his head but he couldn’t just leave! What if he missed some valuable stuff?

The first thing that concerned him was the wall of shattered glass. Spider-web-like cracks littered what was remaining of the wall. And leaning against it was a body of a man. He seemed injured, burned. His clothing was mostly singed away and most of his body mass left was just his skeleton.

Smith approached the body, kneeling down when he got close enough. It’s eye was half lidded, a faint glow coming from the white iris. He leaned to see the rest of his face, gasping lightly when he saw it had been melted away, revealing a metal interior. He stood up, stepping back when he noticed the skeleton of the body was also a metal framework that had been previously hidden by fake skin and clothing.

A faint red light flickered, lighting up part of the body. He watched as a small red light on the damaged eye, flickering, turned its attention up to him.

The body released a light click, followed by a faint humming noise. As the humming invaded Smith’s thoughts, the undamaged skin on the body writhed and began to spread across the previously melted form. The face of a man stared back at him, undamaged. Yet the image of his frame still flickered back and forth between the broken and burnt body and the newly repaired man that he could’ve been.


	2. where did he even get a machete?

**Please comment, leave kudos,  bookmark, subscribe to me if you like this so far! Make sure to leave feedback, it's extremely helpful and motivates me and tells me what I'm doing wrong/right.**

* * *

**Art used in these chapters were drawn by me!! If you like it, make sure to check out[my DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/aeregele/) for my artwork of this fic and other fnaf stuff!**

**Or even[my toyhouse](https://toyhou.se/Aeregele) for more organized work of mine and even work made by y'all!!**

**If you like what I do, consider supporting me and buying me a[coffee](http://ko-fi.com/aeregele)!**

* * *

**Chapter Warnings:**    
**\- character death**  
**\- language use**

“Go explore the rest of the house,” Smith said. “I need to get in through the back door because one of the others is sealed shut.”

“Great,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Aye-aye, Captain,” he grumbled and entered the front door of the building. He just… did  _ not _ want to be here. Especially in the sweaty-ass uniform in a sweaty-ass building. 

He reached a door. After pulling on it and it not budging, he figured this was the sealed door Smith spoke about. He huffed and continued to walk down the hallway, peeking in stray rooms. 

They had already grabbed the other robots and were just looking to see if there was anything else valuable left behind. 

He entered one of the open rooms. It looked somewhat like a living room, decorated with a couch and even a couple burnt picture frames. He couldn’t see much of the room aside from those few decorations, so he grabbed his phone from his pocket and turned the flashlight on. It didn’t help much actually. 

He groaned, searching the room. The wooden coffee table in the center had a lower shelf to it, so he crouched down, shining the flashlight on burnt newspapers and books. He sighed, standing back up. 

He stopped, straining his ears. He could hear light snapping behind him before large, strong, hands grabbed his arms and pulled him backwards. He let out a scream, wanting to alert Smith, but it was cut off by a loud bang and a large spear going through his back. 

The color of his skin slowly faded, almost like the life was being sucked out of him. The spear pulled back with some snaps before Sam’s body was let go and dropped to the floor lifelessly. 

Smith stepped back, watching the flickering image of the man and machine. It watched him with worried eyes. And despite the melting skin and tense muscle, his lips moved to speak.  _ “H-hh-h-hE’s ssss-sstILl aww-w-wa-AAke,”  _ he said, his voice fizzing in and out and glitching like a computer as his image continued to flicker _. “P-p-plEeeAss-se l-leaAve!” _

The sealed door groaned in defiance, catching Smith’s attention. He stepped back, watching as the door slowly opened and a tall man, similar looking to the one on the floor, stepped in. He held a damaged machete, and awkwardly stepped with a limp as he slowly entered the room. He made no noise when walking, which was odd seeing not only his size but the composition of his feet and rest of his body. The outer shell, just like the other man, was melted away, revealing a metal skeleton. The uniform he wore was shredded and burnt. Loose wires hung from joins and open areas.

“Hello, Smith,” the robot smirked widely, “It’s been a long time since I’ve last seen you. Looks like you still trust your life with a company that doesn’t mind seeing your dead body in a mechanical suit.”

Smith didn’t bother thinking about it too much. Seeing the machete he knew this man was a threat, so he pulled out a device from his belt and pointed it at him. “I have a taser!” He shouted, shaking when he saw the smirk of the man grow wider. “A-and I’m not afraid to use it!”

“Are you sure?” He asked mockingly, waking forward with a slow limp. “You’re shaking…  _ I don’t like cowards who shake at the face of death. _ ”

“ _ Don’t _ … Don’t get any closer!” Smith shouted, stepping back.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

**Art used in these chapters were drawn by me!! If you like it, make sure to check out[my DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/aeregele/) for my artwork of this fic and other fnaf stuff!**

**Or even[my toyhouse](https://toyhou.se/Aeregele) for more organized work of mine and even work made by Y'all!!**

**If you like what I do, consider supporting me and buying me a[coffee](http://ko-fi.com/aeregele)!**

* * *

**Chapter Warnings:**    
**\- character death**  
**\- language use  
\- Deals with suicide**

“Hello, Bea, how are you?” Henry asked a weak smile spread across his lips. He dreaded every moment he spent here.

“I’m great! Thanks for asking,” the nurse smiled brightly. Henry couldn’t understand how people could be so happy in an environment like this. A place where countless people have died and continue to die to this day. Sickness, tears, dead — it’s all is in the air and Henry could smell all of it. He’s become so accustomed to it.

He just wanted to leave. To have a normal life.

“How’s Michael?” He asked. He didn’t bother using a cheerful tone because he knew exactly what she would say. _He’s made no progress. We’re still unsure if he’s going to make it._

“He’s doing great,” she smiled, but he saw it turn bittersweet. _She knows_. “His heart rate is fine. His organs aren’t as messed up as when Y'all brought him in, we had to fix that but he seems to be doing perfectly fine.”

“Any clue on when he’ll wake up?” He asked.

“No.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

He huffed and turned, walking towards one of the elevators. He entered it when the doors opened and pressed one of the buttons. He sighed when they closed and the elevator hummed to a start. Closing his eyes he shielded himself from any dreadful thought that would intrude. Because the pit in his stomach told him that the moment he walked in that room would be the moment he would hear the words: _I'm sorry, Mr.Emily. But he didn’t make it._

He opened his eyes when the elevator dinged. The doors opened, allowing him to walk into the hallway. It felt endless. It felt like hell walking like this. He felt like every step he took was another step deeper and deeper into his own grave. Deeper into the hell where he truly belonged.

_Why couldn’t they have just let him burn?_

He stopped by a door, seeing through the blinds in front of its windows that a doctor was beside a bed, checking for any signs of improvement. Or… maybe signs of death.

He stepped back, seeing the doctor leave the bed and open the door. “Good morning, Mr.Emily,” he smiled.

“It’s Henry,” Henry huffed.

“Well, Henry. Good news!” the doctor clapped his hands together after closing the door. “I’m glad you’re here to hear this because Michael seems to be making lots of progress! He should be awake by the end of the month if we’re lucky.”

_A month? He… he gave him a time? A day?_

The doctor patted his shoulder with a smile and left. He took the opportunity and opened the door. His heart clenched like it did every time he entered. No matter what that doctor said, he was still afraid to hear the beeping of the machine stop. He was afraid he’d have to hear them talk about pulling the plug.

But part of him felt it should be done. He shouldn’t make Mikey suffer like this. What if he _doesn’t_ want to come back? What if he gave up hope so he could let go? Then they’re just making him suffer through a long painful death where he can’t move or speak. Could… could he even hear them? Could he hear Henry crying beside him every night? Could he hear the older man pleading for him to wake up?

Henry sat down beside the bed, taking the younger man’s hand in his. He couldn’t bear looking at his face. He was on that thin line between life and death. Yet he lay there looking so peaceful as if he were just simply sleeping. As if he’d just… wake up and think everything was all a dream.

Henry wished this was all a dream. He wished he would just wake up after this. Wake up and see that William or… or Dave now… he wished Dave hadn’t gone insane. Hadn’t snapped the way he did. He wished the other William hadn’t just shown up one day and lie to him the way he did. Why did he even believe the man? Was he really that desperate? Desperate to believe a man who had done the same evil deeds as the one he knew before?

Maybe he just wanted someone there to keep him in check. Maybe he believed that if William had stayed, whatever version it may be, that he would never leave again. That he would never betray him. Never do the things he did that made this all happen.

He knew the only reason he was still here. The only reason he’s still tied to reality was because of Michael.

Why didn’t he just end it then? Why didn’t the end his fate when he heard _‘Dave’_ was accused of murder? Why didn’t he just… turn him in?

_Why did he always have to get so attached to people so easily?_

“Hey.”

Henry jumped, turning his head to see his counterpart. He held a paper bag, closing the door to the room before approaching him.

“I brought you breakfast,” Emily said, his voice quiet. He seemed… more tired than usual. Less happy. “You left a lot earlier than usual, so I knew you hadn’t grabbed anything to eat.”

“Should’ve grabbed me some ice cream,” Henry huffed, taking the bag when Emily offered it to him. “Least let me stress eat while I’m still alive.”

“That’s not funny,” Emily frowned. “And maybe next time come here later in the day so I can consider buying you anything relating to ice cream. No one eats ice cream for breakfast, Henry.”

“Parfait is usually ice-cream,” Henry raised a brow.

“You’re not fucking French, Henry! You’re from Seattle!”

Henry huffed. Opening the bag. “Thanks for the muffin,” he mumbled, taking out said muffin.

“No problem.”

While Henry snacked, he watched Michael in the bed. He felt so bad. For everything.

“Listen, Henry,” Emily started. “I want you to stay positive. I know it’s hard in this type of situation, it was hard for me, too.”

Henry turned to him, watching as Emily crossed his arms, looking sort of uncomfortable. “What… what happened?”

“William was diagnosed with cancer when we were in high school. I thought I lost him,” Emily mumbled. “He survived, thankfully. But it ended up returning in his mid-30s. I spent every day with him in the hospital since they wouldn’t let him leave. It was hard to stay positive for him, knowing that one day I’d visit and he’d be dead. He rarely ate, and even after he was released he refused food. He had nightmares every night. And he just never left the house afterward. He was too scared to go anywhere without me, so Michael had to do a lot of shopping for us and even stay home with him while I made sure the business wasn’t going to burn down.”

“That’s rough,” Henry frowned. “I don’t think Dave ever went through anything like that. Most he went through was the death of his children and his wife leaving him. He had been kinda weird before, but that really messed him up.”

“His kids died?”

“Everyone but Michael,” Henry shrugged, watching Mikey again. “Em…” he started. “Emily I don’t know how long I can keep waiting.”

“Henry… n—”

“I can’t stand this. I really can’t. I just can’t sit here anymore, thinking about what I could’ve done to stop this.”

Emily placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, not saying a word. He was happy that it was enough to calm his counterpart down.

Henry stood, folding the paper bag up. “Thank you,” he said and walked towards the door, leaving the room.

Emily nodded, more to himself, before turning to Mikey. “Stay strong, Kid,” he huffed and exited the room, catching up to Henry. Neither spoke as they walked out of the hospital. Emily didn’t blame him. He’s going through so much and has for so long. “Mind giving me a ride?” Emily asked, following Henry to his car. “I walked here.”

Henry gave him an odd look, before shrugging and jumping into the driver’s seat.

Emily jumped in, watching Henry start up the car. The ride was… also silent. Emily had tried to get Henry to speak a couple times, but it was like the man was in a deep trance. The only time he spoke was when he growled to himself when he had to stop for a red light.

When they arrived at the house, Henry immediately went back to his room, not wanting to speak with anyone. “Be strong, Henry,” Emily said before he had left to his room.

He spotted Michael on the couch, looking through a box. Mark wasn’t around, most likely still asleep since it was still technically morning.

“Hey, Emily,” Michael mumbled, flipping through a couple papers. “Would it be okay if you helped me with a couple projects later on?” He asked.

“Uh, sure,” Henry shrugged, sitting on the sofa beside him. “What’re you planning?”

“Just… _personal stuff,_ ” he mumbled, handing Emily a couple pieces of paper.

Henry closed his door, letting out a deep sigh. He couldn’t feel much anymore. As soon as he had entered his room all he felt was loneliness. Dread.

-.. ---     .. -

  


He felt like he could sleep all day.

.- -. -..     -. . ...- . .-.     .-- .- -.- . ..- .--.

He sat down on his bed, gripping the bed sheets. He… his hands… he felt the need to grip something. But he wasn’t sure what. He just needed something between his fingers. Something he could truly feel.

Something that could help him feel again. Feel anything but… _but this._ Anything but the dread he felt every day.

He wanted it gone. His body was being drained every time he took a breath. His brain could think of nothing more.

.. -     .. ...  -.-- --- ..- .-.     ..-. .- ..- .-.. -

He glanced over at the pictures on his nightstand. Pictures of events that only made him feel worse when he remembered them. He took his hand and flipped them down so he wouldn’t have to look at them again.

So the memories wouldn’t have to catch up and see the future.

.. -     .-- .. .-.. .-..     .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ...     -... . -.-- --- ..- .-.    ..-. .- ..- .-.. -

He moved his hand down, grabbing the handle of the nightstand drawer and pulled it open. He never put much in there, but he didn’t need to look when he felt about the wood and grabbed the knife.

-.. ---     .. -


End file.
